Clipped Wings
by leafichan
Summary: In this timeline, Tavros gets the opportunity to live. But his life will never be hurt-free, Vriska will make sure of that. Until Gamzee stops her, that is.  This a bullshit summary.  :0   Rating may go up, but not promising anything.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

This time he had lived. The sound of his hesitant, grinding footsteps could still be heard. His tiny, timid laugh still rang out to all ears around. He still could hug you, talk to you, kiss you.

He could still hide from you.

He's hiding now. Afraid, so very afraid of what his dear beloved Gamzee has become. A monster. A bloodsick, haunting, frightening monster. In the back of your head you know what you are, know what horrible things you've done. But the fucking voices that rampage through your fragile, damaged mind keep you from fully comprehending. Keep you from hurting so fucking badly about what you fucked up this time. The trolls in your session call you a shitty brain-damaged failure of a troll. It used to seep into one ear and fly right back out the other.

Not anymore.

If the voices are right about anything, it's the fact that they needed to be proven wrong about you. They needed to be shown just how powerful and good you could be.

Could've been.

Won't be.

Instead you went motherfucking ballistic and preyed upon the people you used to care about. The voices of the messiahs whisper in your thinkpan, clawing your concious to get out, almost like that cat girl's claws had raked your face into a scarred mess, the indigo throbbing from the scratches with every undeserved heartbeat.

What was her name again?

You should remember.

You just can't bother yourself to.

Now you look for the others, look for some more colors that can express the RAGE you have, the rage you paint onto the drab grey walls of the Veil.

You can feel your eyes stretching past the physical limit as they widen in search of a new thrill, a much more satisfying hunt and slaughter that plays over and over in your mind. Blue, green, colors, laughter, screams, pleading, hurting, burning, choking, gasping, shaking, crying, dying. Your mind won't let you forget.

Footsteps.

You quickly swing around, a smile stretching literally from ear to ear. The scratches have cut the side of your mouth, and the flesh and skin tears to enable the sickening grin. It rips, blood cascades down, the sound of the seperation would make any sane troll cringe. But you barely feel it. Just a slight tingle, a slight twitch in your unpossibly stretched eyes.

Your pupils grow larger, they catch the flicker of the light that bounces off metal legs. They catch the terror in those light brown eyes. They catch the melody of yellow and orange mingled on those too-large horns. They catch the way the troll falls to the ground, his knees hitting the ground with a clank.

Your eyes take in the tears that have filled his to the brim and have spilled over, creating a steady flowing river down those brown-flushed cheeks.

Brown.

Brown.

Brown.

A color you are missing.

A color you want so badly.

A color you wish to drown yourself in so it will a part of you forever.

A color you will NEVER take.

He stares at you, never taking his eyes off your face even as he crawls to your feet.

"Gamzee. Gamzee!"

He repeats your name a billion times, his sweet, faltering voice ringing through your ears. You can barely make out his words, he chokes on his lack of air, he stutters every syllable, screams every breath away. His eyes become dead as they stare up at what is left of you. He continues to cry, pitifully sobbing, his face turning blue from lack of oxygen, but he never stops looking at you. He reaches your legs, and he fists the bottom of your pants.

He clings to you like his life depends on it, like you are the only thing he has ever, ever had.

Like he is lost.

Your smile slowly fades. You quietly sink down onto his level, grabbing his collar and pulling him as close to you as you can.

He is lying in your lap now, his face awkwardly squished against yours.

His shaking hands are on your chest now and he tries to struggle backwards a bit, but he isn't strong enough. He struggles, you stare.

You are expressionless, gazing at his muddled face.

He screams at first, but soon resumes his insisent pleading.

"G-gamzee, please, please. PLEASE."

He repeats 'please' again and again. His perfect voice is now just a raw screech. You feel it as he twists his body to the side to cough up blood. He hacks until he finally just stops breathing for a moment. His head hangs limply, eyes simply staring at the blood on the floor.

He stops struggling.

Stops all movement and falls into your arms.

The blood from his mouth smears all over the front of your shirt. His hands fall limply from your shirt. You grab his chin and force him to look at you. His eyes are wide, staring at nothing, his lips are moving robotically but his face shows no emotion. You would think he was dead if his frantic heartbeat wasn't pounding away near your ribcage. You can't hear what he is saying. So, you lean your ear down to his trembling, bloody lips.

"gamzee, i love you please stop."

He repeats this over and over, the blood bubbling between his pale lips. You slowly lift your head when those words sink in. Without you feeling it, tears start to pour down your face. Before you know it, they are running down your neck, and pooling in the slim space between you both. Everything is tears now. His unseeing eyes continue to leak and so do yours.

Oh gog.

What the fuck have you done.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Well shit, I somehow forgot about this.**

**Sorry ^^;**

**Hope you like this chapter.**

When you somehow fully comprehend the extent of Tavros's injury and desperatation, you know that you must act quickly. You pull yourself to your feet, gently lifting him with you. One arm acts as firm support for his hunched back, and the other is supporting his legs, your hand clasped under his knees. He makes not a sound as you rise, not even an unconcious whimper, and this confirms the thought that you have to motherfucking hurry. Running is a little awkward with the added weight (however slight) but you manage. Your footsteps are the only noise heard as you lope hurriedly through the dim halls and occasional rooms of the Veil. This place is so maze-like, passages doubling back on each other, twisting turns and dipping stairs. This makes you sick. You cannot stand the steady need to check if you have passed this spot before or if you notice the certain dent or stain scattered in this place. Everything is gray, gray, gray; walls, walls, walls. Corridors leading in every direction. Doors that lead to the same room you passed 10 minutes ago. This twisting and turning, dizzying path continues for an hour or more, and you still push on. Soon you just stop, after coming to a large room you have rushed through 4 times already. It is mostly empty, save for the huge test-tube like vessels you have begun preserving things in. It acts as a sort of sick collection for you, a sort of reminder for all the terrible things you've done. All the horrible things that have happened to you, and the horrible things that you wanted others to feel.

No, in actuallity, you could have braved those things on your own. Just keep pushing on Gamzee, ignore the fact that you haven't seen Goatdad in over a month now, yet again. Ignore the fact that your sopor supply is running low again, and that you fear someday you will run out, and then what would happen?

You know now.

And you reflect back on the merciless killing spree when you snapped.

You feel something akin to regret but you can't feel too regretful in this instance.

You were a motherfucking subbjuggulator after all.

It was your calling.

That makes it right, it makes it natural.

Doesn't it?

Your thought process halts when your eyes drag over the towering test tube that houses your dead lusus. He still looks noble, even now. His tail makes a perfect curve against his white coat. The twisted horns that you share, jut out from his raised head. He looks caught in midmotion, like he might emit a disapproving grunt toward you at an given second. You hate that even in death, he has no flaws. No faults.

But you do, and always will.

His eyes stare coldy down at you, never blinking.

You are a huge fuckup, aren't you.

Especially now with Tavros.

Tavros.

TAVROS!

You had forgotten why you were so desperate to find someone who could help, the whole reason your legs where aching and watery indigo tears still rolled down your scratched up cheeks.

Tav...

You look over your shoulder at him, indigo eyes scanning his flushed face for any sign of life. His face has returned to slightly brown instead of a weird blue color, that's good.

You kneel down and slide him carefully off your back.

Guess you'll have to take care of this little bull on your own.

It's not going to be easy, seeing as you made him like this.

Just looking at his weak, sob wracked body makes you cringe. Every inch of him is limp and frail. The muddy blood has dried around his mouth, flaking off in a grotesque manner. The blood on your shirt hasn't dried however, and it's starting to get cold.

It makes you shiver violently, partly because it is clammy, partly because of how it got there, and just who it came from.

You slowly pull off your shirt, the front clinging to your skin.

It makes a squelching sound as you pull the back fabric free, and you scrounch up your face. No matter how much you adore this troll, having his blood all over you is definitely not something to look forward to.

Though you would drown in it willingly if it only made him be okay again.

Collecting your thoughts again, you reach out and softly touch his face. You are so hesitant, for fear of breaking him, and hurting him more than you already have. He's just so... so precious to you, and you have no fucking idea how you could do this to him.

You are a heartless shitstain on this little guy's life.

You made him curl in on himself and beg you to stop.

You made him flinch, cringe and bleed.

You caused him to scream, and lose all breath.

He did it for you.

You ruined him.

And now, he could be dead because of you.

The tears flow heavier now, because all you can do is stare at his blank face, and wish it could have been different.

That you could have stopped the voices that told you to kill, and that you could have stopped his suffering in seeing you like that.

Yes, his injury made you calm down that murderous rampage then, but what about later.

Later, when you get angry over some petty thing.

Will that Gamzee return? Will you take even more innocent lives of friends?

You hope not.

You hope Tavros can help you fight and defeat that bastard.

You hope he can save you.

But you have to save him first.


End file.
